


The Doughnut Hypothesis

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Feeding Kink, Frottage, M/M, Overeating, belly stuffing kink, doughnuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has very specific tastes in between cases and John makes an attempt to cater to them. His most recent desire is to consume an entire box of doughnuts without sharing a crumb. The two of them learn something new about each other in the process. Warning: Here be smut. And feederism. If that is not your thing, just click away</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doughnut Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this one day: http://kriskenshin.tumblr.com/post/65346883137/sherlock-is-very-protective-of-his-donuts-in
> 
> and my feeder brain just went "Ah yis." Hope you enjoy!

John left the surgery one pleasant afternoon and decided to walk home. He was a bit tired admittedly. Sherlock's last case had wrapped up only twenty four hours ago. They had gone out to a post case dinner wherein Sherlock had managed to inhale what had seemed to be an impossible amount of dumplings and then had gone straight to bed once they had made it back to the flat. John very much doubted that Sherlock was awake even now as the detective doubtlessly had plenty of sleep to catch up on. Therefore he was quite surprised when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and read the message from his flatmate.

Doughnuts. 1 Dozen. Maria's. -SH

John sighed and came to a stop as he reached the corner before making a left away from Baker Street. He might as well. And Sherlock needed the calories. Really he made a point to take advantage of any time Sherlock had a craving involving food. That lead him to march a couple of blocks out of his way to purchase a large box of Maria's Finest Fresh-Maid Doughnuts and carry them back to Baker Street. He found the door locked and fumbled with the keys for a moment, the box of doughnuts clumsily held under one arm until he found the right one and let himself in. He climbed the stairs up to the flat and looked around for Sherlock as he set them down on the kitchen table. The man wasn't sulking on the sofa or trying to generate mutant molds in a petri dish, so John had to conclude that Sherlock was still in his bed. Typical, he thought just a bit fondly.

John decided to put the kettle on and have one of the doughnuts himself. He figured he had earned it for traipsing all about London for the damn things. He had just made himself a cup of tea, sat down with the morning's paper, and placed one of the sticky pastries on a plate for himself when he heard a rustling in the hall that meant Sherlock must finally have paid off his sleep debt. John looked up from his newspaper to be greeted by the sight of his long and lean flatmate clothed in nothing but a bed sheet.

"Good morning. Or well, good afternoon, Rip Van Winkle," said John blithely. Sherlock only squinted slightly at him. John wondered for a moment if Sherlock had deleted that reference.

"What are you doing?" asked the detective, still glowering at John. Or well, no, actually at John's plate.

"Reading the paper. You're not in it yet. I expect the story came out too late to make it-"

Sherlock made an impatient noise as if John was being thick on purpose. Which he kind of was to be fair.

"With the doughnuts, John," growled Sherlock, "They're mine." He tilted his head up like a petulant five-year-old and swept the big box of doughnuts from the table to be cradled in his arms. Then he bent down primly for the one on John's plate and picked it up in his mouth, still narrowing his eyes at John before sweeping out of the kitchen.

"Oi!" said John, getting to his feet and marching out of the kitchen as well. He was just in time to see Sherlock flop back on the sofa, doughnut box still held against his chest. One long- fingered hand disentangled itself from the sheet and reached up to take the doughnut from his lips as Sherlock bit from it.

"I was the one who paid for them and picked them up, you prat," continued John.

"For me," said Sherlock, pointedly taking another huge bite of the doughnut, "And I am fully intending to reimburse you. Don't worry."

John snorted and crossed his arms. "C'mon Sherlock, there's no way you're going to eat all of them."

"Isn't there?" asked Sherlock, raising an eyebrow at John and promptly swallowing the rest of what had briefly been John's doughnut. He opened the box to get another one.

"You'd get fat," John warned.

"So?" rumbled the lanky detective, lounging back with another doughnut held to his lips, "Tea would be lovely, thanks."

John didn't have a response for that. The room suddenly seemed far too warm. He went dazedly back to the kitchen and made Sherlock a cuppa. When he brought it back to the man, he was still sprawled on the sofa and taking languid bites of his most recently selected treat.

"'Fanks," Sherlock managed, his mouth full. John tried to get a look at how many doughnuts were left. Could Sherlock really eat a dozen? Somehow even after seeing the man pack away all of those dumplings yesterday, John was still at a loss for where the detective would even put them all.

Instead, John just nodded and went back to his own tea and paper, though his mind kept drifting to a certain pair of cupid's bow lips closing again and again around a purple-frosted doughnut.

After about fifteen minutes, John realized that he had been reading the same paragraph over and over again. He let out a long breath and set down the paper, rubbing his face a bit before taking a long drink of tea. There was a clink as Sherlock apparently set down his own cup out in the other room. John's tongue dipped out to wet his lips as he thought he heard another set smacking. How many had he managed to eat now? Was it enough that his stomach would be poking out just a little? Rounding gracefully out from under his ribcage? Ready to be rubbed, smoothed over and kiss-

What the hell?!

John grunted and put his head in his hands.

Sherlock, lounging back, dropping doughnut after doughnut into his mouth. He swallows them whole with a soft hum of pleasure. His stomach fills just a bit more. Bigger and fuller as several more pastries disappear down his gullet. He's getting round now. His stomach's no longer concave or even flat. It's bulging. Beautifully so. Does he groan then? Is he too full? God no... he want's more. He tells John so. Opens his mouth lazily for more food as his hands slide down to caress his swollen belly. There's a slight smile curling his lips, self-satisfied, but a flush to his cheeks too from knowing how much he's eaten. John feeds him more. His middle is taught and pulling up his shirt. There's still food left. Sherlock moans.

"Fuck!"

John's eyes snapped open. His breathing was far too ragged, his skin felt far too warm, his trousers far too tight. He took another sip of tea, but that didn't really help, though it had gone tepid. He forced himself to calm down. Thought about one of the nastier things he'd seen at the surgery today and got up to get himself a glass of cold water. He downed it in quick gulps.

All right. So he had some very non platonic reactions to the idea of his flatmate being stuffed to the brim with doughnuts. John huffed a breath.

Someone else did too.

Except had that been a huff or had it been... a groan? John blinked. What was definitely a belch sounded from the living room.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, John wandered out of the kitchen and back to the living room.

"Sherlock, you okay?" he asked, wondering why his voice came out sounding so gruff.

"Ffine," came Sherlock's reply, lazy and deep.

John grinned despite himself and wandered closer, peering into the box of doughnuts that was now sitting on the coffee table next to an emptied cup of tea. Three and a half doughnuts lay within. Purple icing on the lips of a certain consulting detective left little mystery to where the others had gone.

"Did you really just eat eight doughnuts?" asked John with a laugh.

"Eight and a half," grumbled Sherlock, his eyes still closed. He muffled a small belch.

"Blimey, Sherlock, where did you put them all?"

"Where do you think? You're a doctor aren't you? I assume you know how the digestive system works," grunted Sherlock, puffing a bit as he made to turn on his side and face away from John. He didn't seem to be quite able to make it as he stopped halfway when a soft Oohmph escaped his lips.

John laughed and reached out to prod the sheet where he expected Sherlock's stomach to be. "Oh come off it, there's no way all those fit! I can't eat more than three without feeling like I'm about to explode."

Sherlock grunted as John prodded him and rolled back onto his back, glaring at his flatmate. There was a tiny flash of mischief in his eye as his lips parted in a smile. His eyebrow raised. It was an expression John had learned to both love and loathe. It meant the detective knew exactly what was going on.

"Really, John?" he said, silkily, his smirk only deepening as John swallowed, "If you doubt me, why don't you observe the evidence with your own eyes."

With that, Sherlock threw the sheet off of himself and then folded his arms behind his head, the smirk still fully on display.

As was the rest of him. Sherlock once again, was not wearing pants. His flatmate was now naked on the sofa before John's very eyes.

Not only naked, but quite erect and... leaking.

And that wasn't even the best part.

No. The sight that made John's trousers feel infinitely too small was the expanse of pale belly before him. It was round and full, jutting from Sherlock's middle as if he had become suddenly pregnant. Or had recently gained ten pounds on his middle alone. 

John realized he was salivating and quickly looked back up to Sherlock's eyes. He was about to attempt to laugh it off, make some joke about when Sherlock's food baby was due, but then he noticed that Sherlock's eyes were blown dark. The lids had sunk down. His lips were parted. John glanced down at his flatmate's errection.

"Uh..." was all he could manage. There wasn't much blood left in the top half of his body.

"Hmm..." hummed Sherlock, and damn that man. He had the nerve to slip a hand down to that beautiful bulge of belly, "I must say, John, having compatible kinks is something I hadn't expected of us. Though I am rather glad it's worked out this way." He smiled and stretched as much as he could with his belly packed full of doughnuts.

"What?" asked John, eyes following the pale dome of tum as it rose a and fell back again.

Sherlock sighed and said flatly, "We're both sexually aroused by the same sort of stimuli. In this case: belly."

He hummed and gave it a slow circular rub. John took a step closer.

"Um yeah, I suppose we are," said John, looking back up to Sherlock's face, "But er I don't-"

"Feel excitement from getting full. No, you get pleasure from seeing others eat until their bellies are stuffed full and round," purred Sherlock in a voice as rich as the doughnuts he had just devoured, "So as I said before. We're in luck." He gave his pale dome of belly a fond pat.

"Oh," said John, blinking at Sherlock and then frowning because this couldn't be true, "You mean you think we should-I mean you want to- uh."

"Yes," said Sherlock, sounding bored even as his erection twitched, "I would have thought that were obvious."

"Ah."

"We don't have to, of course. I know that your arousal may be no indication of your desire to stuff me and fuck me, but I had rather hoped-"

John crushed his mouth against Sherlock's and the man groaned in approval and drew his arms up and around the ex-army doctor as they fought for control of the kiss. John grunted and quickly straddled Sherlock's hips. He felt the detective's hands tugging insistently at his clothing. His jumper disappeared, then his shirt. He moaned as he drove his hips into Sherlock's round overfull belly which in turn caused the detective to gasp and throw his head back.

"John!"

"Yeah?" murmured the other man, smirking in triumph and mouthing at Sherlock's jawline and down his neck. He tugged off his too-tight trousers.

"Huh," huffed Sherlock with a grin of his own as he looked down at John straddling him, "I don't suppose you'd be interested in ah! In seeing whether my belly can get just a bit bigger, would you? I did hypothesize that I could manage the whole dozen." He reached down to pull John back up to his lips.

"What do you think?" breathed the detective, arching his back to press his gurgling tummy up against John's.

"Y-yeah. God, yeah, Sherlock," answered John, taking a long breath to get his thoughts back in order. A smile spread across his lips and he reached over to pick up the abandoned half of doughnut from Sherlock's previous binge. "I'll help. Open up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but did as asked, then nearly choked as John stuffed the whole half into his mouth. The detective struggled to chew and then swallowed down the doughy mass. He grunted as his stomach protested the sugary addition.

"Oi!" Sherlock began, but was immediately silenced by another bite of doughnut. This one was mercifully smaller and much more fitting of the description bite-sized. He felt himself relax and slacken as that bite was followed by more and the sweet rich flavor invaded his mouth. His stomach ached a bit, but it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest bit. Soon that feeling took a backseat to the warm pressure building instead.

"Well done," murmured John, grinning down at Sherlock and popping in more pieces of doughnut every time his lips parted. He reveled in the soft hums and huffs that Sherlock emitted as he indulged, the satisfied way his eyes fell closed. How pink and shiny his lips were getting from their task. John leaned in to kiss them.

"Two more to go, love," he murmured.

Sherlock groaned, his hands moving down to explore his middle.

"God I'm full, John," he breathed, but parted his lips obediently once again.

"You can manage two more though. I know you can," said John with the utmost confidence. He placed his own hand on Sherlock's distended stomach, fingers spread wide to feel every inch of tightly stretched skin that they could. The detective shifted, making soft pleasurable noises that John found himself utterly enraptured by.

Sherlock burped lightly, then lay back and opened his mouth for more. "Oooh... Go on then. Make me even fatter, Doctor Watson," murmured Sherlock, a note of challenge creeping in even as he hiccuped slightly.

John dug his fingers possessively into Sherlock's middle, a groan of his own trapped in his throat. Then he selecting another doughnut, feeding Sherlock more quickly as he could feel both of them needing far more.

"Huh-oh God," Sherlock panted, feeling himself full, stuffed, and heavy and somehow still willingly eating more. "Ugh!" He threw his head back as his stomach gurgled loudly, sending a stronger note of pain through his doughnut induced haze.

"You're alright, Sherlock," murmured John, sympathetically giving the man a short rest. He spread his palms over Sherlock's drum tight stomach, unable to believe just how big and swollen it had become. "You're amazing. God, you are beautiful."

"Unusual definition," said Sherlock breathlessly, groaning as his stomach gurgled again, "Oh, fuck! John, I need-"

"One more left," murmured John, "Just one more. Come on. You can handle that can't you? For me?" John gave Sherlock's bloated gut another long slow rub, doing his best to soothe the aches.

Sherlock panted and lifted his head to look blearily at his doctor. The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Hmmph. I suppose so," he managed, then held out his hand, "Give me the last one. I think my stomach might need a bit of persuasion to let it fit."

He took a large bite, closing his eyes as he put off swallowing, gasping when he did. John gave the detective's belly a kiss as a reward. Sherlock took a larger bite, impossibly full as he swallowed. John smoothed his hands over the man's bulging stomach, giving the pale skin a tiny nibble. Sherlock groaned wildly and crammed the rest of the doughnut into his mouth. The detective threw his head back as he swallowed, his hands desperately scrabbling at his middle.

"Oh, oh God I feel like I'm about to burst," Sherlock groaned wildly, "John!"

"A fucking dozen, Sherlock," said John gruffly, attacking the detective's overfull belly with lips, tongue, and teeth, "Christ, you are fucking incredible!"

The detective cried out at the sudden onslaught of attention, trying to writhe, but unable to move much with his stomach as stuffed as it was.

"Please, John. I need more," he groaned in frustration, "Fuck me!"

John chuckled against the man's belly, but took pity on his detective. "Alright," he murmured. But as far as he knew they had no lube or condoms lying around. He gave his lover's stomach a little pat and then slid his hand down to stroke his lover's member instead. It was hot, hard, and slick with precum already. John felt his own erection throb in sympathy.

"Might have to take a rain check on the actual fuck," said John. Sherlock groaned, trying to pump his hips up.

"Fine," he allowed, "But do something."

John happily obliged he began stroking Sherlock furiously, then lined up his own aching erection and took them both in hand.

"F-fuck!" panted John, groaning at the sensation.

"Yeesss," hissed Sherlock, throwing his head back at the contact and then blinking down. He couldn't catch sight of much more than John moving over them as he pumped their cocks together. All he could see was belly. His eyes rolled back and he shuddered in pleasure, "Oh, God, John. N-not going to last long."

"Rrright behind you," grunted John, dipping his head down to mouth at Sherlock's swollen belly. The detective came in a long bellow, his body convulsing as it tried to ride out his orgasm but too bloated to arch much. The result was that all the pleasure had to be released vocally instead, his vision went white for a moment as he pulsed in John's hand, quite possibly shouting himself hoarse in the process. The sight of Sherlock roaring through his orgasm, mouth stretched wide, head back, lead John to his own as he shuddered and groaned, giving in to the torrent that rushed through him.

They were both panting as they came down, one of Sherlock's hands in John's hair, the other resting on his cum-splashed belly. John's face was still pressed into it, his breaths drying out the streaks of spunk. He grunted and sat up, grabbing some tissues to clean them both up a bit, leaning in to lick some of it from Sherlock's round belly.

"Hmm," hummed Sherlock dazedly, a small gentle smile spreading across his lips.

"What?" asked John as he gave Sherlock's bloated belly another rub.

"My hypothesis was correct."

John snorted and looked over at the emptied box with an odd sense of pride.

"Yeah it was," he said, grinning and moving up to kiss Sherlock's lips. The detective responded lazily, then grunted as he tried to shift.

"Here, let me help," said John, stepping in and helping the bloated detective roll onto his side. He pulled the sheet back over him and chuckled as he reached down to play with the man's belly a bit more.

"Maybe it requires further testing. One good set of results doesn't prove anything, you know," he added, "Maybe I should bring you another box home when I leave the surgery tomorrow."

Sherlock huffed sleepily. "Hmm, better not. I'd get fat," he warned, a tiny tease in his voice.

John smiled.

"So?"


End file.
